


Secret of the Akuma

by LadyLuckandHerBlackCat



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adventure & Romance, F/M, History, Inspired by The Mummy (1999)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:08:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26434675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLuckandHerBlackCat/pseuds/LadyLuckandHerBlackCat
Summary: Marinette Dupain-Cheng studied Tibetan literature and lore all her life, but during an expedition to search for the hidden Temple of Kalsang in Tibet, the French Linguist unknowing awakens a creature that desires the ultimate power from the jewels of creation and destruction. With the help of dashing cartographer Adrien Agreste and her quirky adoptive brother Nino, she must race against the clock before evil acquires the power to change reality... no matter the price.Inspired by The Mummy (1999).
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 21
Kudos: 15





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys,
> 
> I've been on hiatus because of moving and starting a new job, but I'm back with a new story! 
> 
> An enormous shoutout to Gigi_Bug for helping me work and edit this story. You're the absolute best!

**Prologue:**

Lhasa 1426 C.E.

The city of _Lhasa_ was considered “The Land of the Gods”. The seat of power for _Gongma_ Drakpa Gyaltsen, the King of Tibet, located in the majestic landscape that ebbed and flowed with the prosperous river basin. Deep indigo Himalayan mountains surrounded the city to the north, casting long shadows across the plateau. Ochre red rays of light illuminated the golden tops of the city’s temples, palace, and glistened across the river’s surface in the twilight. A cacophony of street vendors and clattering of carts echoed through the city— the scent of mustard seed, turmeric, and coriander permeated the air. 

Within his chamber of the _Polata_ Palace, Rabten awaited the arrival of his guest. A formidable man and devout follower of the Order of the Miraculous, Ratben served as The Abbot of the _Kalsang_ monastery and Guardian for the Miraculous of Transmission. 

Rabten heard his guest’s hesitant footsteps as she entered the chambers and his servants discreetly bowed to her in welcome. Dorje’s slender figure was dressed in exquisite silks the color of peacock feathers and embroidered with golden beads. Gifts befitting the favored second wife of the King. Her exotic white-blonde hair hung down her shoulder and gleamed in the setting sun as she joined him. His stern features instantly softened as he drank in the sight of her. 

She rushed into his waiting arms, her pulse fluttering beneath his touch. Their lips met and sparked a passion that neither of them could quench even if they had all eternity to try. For only in each other’s arms did they ever feel free. 

However before the servant could seal the door, the King, Drakpa, himself burst through it. 

Dorje and Rabten realized their worst fears: at that moment their love and lives were forfeit. The King’s aged visage morphed from disbelief to unspeakable rage as he shouted for his guards. Heavy footsteps thundered down the hall. Rabten desperately searched for a way to escape their impending death, but the small chamber was only accessible through the single entrance.

Determining there was no way out but through Drakpa, Rabten maneuvered his beloved behind him and unsheathed a concealed knife from his robes. He frantically lunged at Drakpa who blocked the sloppy attack, knocking the blade to Dorje’s feet. 

The armed guards charged into the room, ensuring there would be no escape. Dorje dove for the knife and planted herself defensively in front of Rabten. As his beloved dared to threaten the King, he saw her tear-filled eyes surge with determination. She urged him to flee; assuring him that they would meet again in their next life, a better life. When he froze, Dorje shoved him over the railing to the short distance to the rocks below. Disoriented from the fall, he heard a shriek of pain that made his blood run cold and the ringing in his ears dissipated. Only to be followed by various shouts and commands. 

Rabten wasn’t sure how much time had passed when his servants’ hands pulled from his stupor. Pain filled his chest as an endless amount of tears streamed down his sharp cheeks. Somehow, his servants smuggled him into the cellars. Numbly, he allowed himself to be dragged away, his grief too deep to comprehend. The only utterance he spoke was his Dorje’s name.

Narrowly avoiding capture for hours, his servants located Dorje’s corpse and procured his means of escape back to the Temple of _Kalsang_. 

Rabten crept into her apartments, his breath hitching at the sight of his beloved in her funeral shroud. Her body had been cleansed and perfumed in preparation for cremation. Against the thin, cotton garment, her fair skin appeared so frail that he worried she would shatter if he brushed her cheek. 

This stolen moment had only been for him to say his goodbyes, yet Rabten couldn’t tolerate the idea of being parted from her. No, he would take her away, far away from those who would separate them. Never again shall anyone come between them.

Upon his orders, his servants reluctantly wrapped her in wool blankets and furtively carried her outside into the frigid night. Several yaks loaded with provisions waited to take them into the mountains. When it was suggested that Dorje’s corpse be placed in a wagon, Rabten was overcome with blind rage. To treat his beautiful Dorje as common cargo further fueled his ire to the point of violence. Apprehensively, the servants situated her in his arms before journeying away from the city and every so often, Rabten pressed a tender kiss to Dorje’s frozen cheek.

As the sun began to rise, they arrived at the hidden monastery of _Kalsang_ ; the white stones were striking against the treacherous dark mountainside. _Kalsang_ was the home of the Guardians of the Miraculous. Men and women dedicated their lives to maintaining universal balance through the understanding and use of the miraculous.

Within the inner sanctum of the Temple, among countless recorded histories of the Miraculouses and their Wielders, lie two books. First was the Grimoire of the Miraculous— only Wielders and Guardians were allowed to read from this text. It contained the sacred instructions to purify evil and restore harmony within its weathered pages. From its wisdom, many had reached enlightenment and learned about the mystical powers of the universe.

The _other_ book, even the highest-ranking Guardians refused to touch. Ancient superstition prevented them from poisoning their karma with its darkness. The Grimoire of the Akuma was hidden away from the world for it contained the commands that could return the dead to life and other such black magic. It’s existence alone went against the order of nature and twisted the fabric of reality. Therefore, the text was hidden away and guarded by those whose eyes never closed. 

Beyond the gated entrance to the Temple of _Kalsang_ , Rabten could see the imposing statue of _Piáo Chóng_ , the first Wielder, and Guardian of the Miraculous of Creation. She stood opposite of _Hēi Māo_ , the first Wielder, and Guardian of the Miraculous of Destruction. Together, their presence dissuaded those who coveted the Miraculouses with ill-intentions. 

Ever since their creation, the Miraculouses have been sought after by the ambitious, desperate, and power-hungry. It was said that whosoever used these objects for selfish gain or malicious intent would face grave karmic retribution. 

As he stared at the two halves of balance, Rabten pulled Dorje closer to him. During the trek, Rabten contemplated what must be done once he returned to the Temple and now, he needed to act swiftly. 

Quietly, he bid his servants retire and leave him to chant over her in peace; with concerned glances, they departed.

He knew he would be discovered before long and must finish his task before the other Guardians or Wielders awakened. Rabten gingerly laid Dorje’s lifeless form on the cold stone floor before _Piáo Chóng_ . Her eyes pierced through him as if aware of his execrable objective. Once alone, he brushed his hand against her icy cheek, desperate to see her beautiful green eyes smile at him once again. Under _Piáo Chóng_ ’s statue, was a large chest of metal, Rabten pushed aside his doubt and conscience to complete the puzzle required to open it. Knowledge only granted to Guardians and those chosen by fate. 

Quickly, he retrieved the Miraculouses hidden within both statues. Donning the jewels, the Kwamis of Creation and Destruction appeared. Harshly, he commanded their silence as he opened the text; the kwamis floated beside Rabten in resignation. 

Feeling the rush of dread and power, it’s pages fluttered as he feverishly searched.

A spark of hope filled his heart as he found the incantation. Summoning the Akuma, Rabten gently cupped the dark energy in his hand. It pulsed violently in his grasp, like the fluttering of wings. Before he could guide it to Dorje, giving it a purpose, his back surged with pain. 

He was immobilized. 

Rabten desperately tried to move, to plead with the Wielders to let him complete the spell, but the words never came. Surrounding him and his beloved were the Miraculous Wielders of Protection, Illusion, and Subjection and several other Guardians. Their judgemental eyes seemed to bore into him, some so ashamed they couldn’t look at him for long. Still frozen on his knees, the Akuma entered the pendant at his throat, converting the jade stone to a sinister black. 

Dorje’s body was returned to the palace for her sins would be washed away with her next reincarnation. However, Rabten’s crime threatened to disrupt the balance the Guardians swore to protect. His actions resulted in an Akuma infecting and corrupting him and jeopardizing the universal balance of good and evil; therefore, when the purposeless Akuma inhabited his body, Rabten was cursed with unwanted immortality, never to be reincarnated.

Upon hearing his fate, Rabten couldn’t find the energy or will to react. The grief of never reuniting with his beloved Dorje was too much to bear as the Akuma further ate away at his soul.

Without a Wielder for the Miraculous of Creation to cleanse the Akuma, the Guardians were left with no other choice. They sealed him in a tomb beneath the monastery to protect themselves and others as the Akuma’s corruption slowly polluted the Temple. It’s presence permeated through the air.

Desperate, the monks scattered across the far corners of the world, hunting for potential Wielders of the Miraculous of Creation and Destruction. As two halves of a whole, neither could be properly awakened without the other. However, there had been no destiny-ordained Wielders in over a millennium. 

As the years passed, Rabten remained in a sealed tomb under the Temple; Guardians could never allow him to be released. The Akuma’s malevolence thrived off of his despair and anguish - it’s power growing loose and wild. Unless cleansed of it’s evil, Rabten would arise with the dangerous power of the Akuma and bring devastation in his wake. 

After a century, the search proved futile as the Akuma’s wicked power grew until one day, not even the Temple itself was safe from it. 

All the Guardians, Wielders, and monks fled and only the Miraculouses of Protection, Illusion, and Subjection remained active outside the Temple. These Wielders would act as sentries against anyone who would dare to search or find the monastery. The rest were concealed and locked away.

Only the true Wielders of the Miraculouses of Creation and Destruction could purify the Akuma, release a soul from evil, and preserve the balance.


	2. Expedition Part 1

**Himalayan Mountains - March, 1926 C.E**

Adrien rubbed his hands together in a desperate bid to bring warmth back to the frozen appendages, his breath appearing in clouded puffs. The expedition team trekked through this portion of the mountain ridge for the past week. The porters, once diligent men employed to accompany the explorers, appeared as exhausted as Adrien himself.

He crouched beside a single, dim lantern with his map. Deciphering some of the foreign characters on it remained a challenge he struggled to persevere through. Conversing in Tibetan came naturally to him while the written language continued to be bewildering. The reason why he appreciated cartography and mathematics: there was a universal understanding of it. Despite its complexity, applied geometry remained straightforward—in his mind at least. The flourishes of calligraphy on the page meant to represent language were not.

As he glared at the overcast sky and grey hazy air, Adrien wished for the hundredth time that Winston had not turned down his offer to accompany them. His mentor’s expertise would help immensely to account for the distortions caused by the lack of proper light. He adjusted his thin wired eyeglasses. With only the halo-like rays from his lantern to work by, his already limited eye-sight strained to make sense of the outlines on the page. 

_“See, the world is a sphere,” Winston drew a circle with his large finger, “A cartographer’s job is to translate a given space on that sphere onto a flat plane, such as a map or book. The trick to it is understanding how to reduce the distortion caused by the translation.”_

A weary voice broke through his concentration. “ _Chat_ , we should take this opportunity to return back to camp. We are beginning to lose daylight and the temperatures are plummeting—it is a risk for us all to be caught _here_ at night. ” The man’s nose and ashen mustache twitched in irritation. 

M. Damocles was the financial backer of the trip although everyone referred to him by his preferred title of ‘ _Le Hibou_ ’. A stout, older gentleman with peculiar eyebrows and mustache that bore a striking resemblance to a Great Horned owl. Additionally, _Le Hibou_ insisted on calling those close to him by various animal names - he had deemed Adrien, _Chat Noir,_ or _Chat_ for short. Lacking the essential skills to assist Adrien in the actual search, _Le Hibou_ assumed the role of the crew’s self-appointed leader. 

It remains a mystery how a case of mistaken identity, followed by a wine-fueled discussion, led to co-piloting an expedition in the Himalayas. Adrien considered himself fortunate that only _Le Hibou_ , for all his quirkiness, accompanied him instead of his inane son, Frederique. No amount of wine in the world could make that man’s presence tolerable.

In the distance, sounds similar to a strong breeze gushing through the tree increased in intensity. Peering at his wristwatch, noting the time, Adrien relented. “Perhaps you’re right, _Le Hibou_. Once we’ve surveyed this ridgeline we can return to camp for the night.” 

Without hesitation, _Le Hibou_ directed the other men to relocate. Adrien knew they were close to a waterfall by the far echoing of rushing water, but locating it has been a challenge. 

Adrien gathered his notes and altimeter when a small, but deceptively strong, arm snaked around his bicep. “But Adrien,” her cloying voice whined, “We’re all _so_ tired and positively famished. _Mio Caro_ , this can wait until tomorrow.” Lila Rossi fluttered her eyelashes for good measure. 

A tactic long since wasted on him. 

Adrien theorized she relied on her feminine wiles to persuade and beguile her way through life. She knew full well how effective her techniques were with the rest of the men. _Le Hibou,_ in particular, ended up wrapped around her little finger. He doted upon her as if she were his own daughter instead of a hired translator.

“Mlle. Rossi,” Adrien firmly stated, longing to peel her hand off his arm. “It is _imperative_ that we use the limited daylight to our advantage. We only have a few days before our return to _Lhasa_ and we’ve yet to cover _half_ the area expected.” Adrien wriggled out of her clutches. An unspoken _no thanks to you_ evident in his tone. More than once Lila had convinced _Le Hibou_ to halt their progress for one frivolous reason after another. 

She pouted but distracted herself by flirting with the other men. His assistants, Rémy and Michel, joked and fiddled with their daypacks as they walked. Michel dropped his canteen when Lila brushed his upper arm and giggled. 

In the beginning, he too had been enraptured by the attractive Italian linguist. Along with Lila Rossi’s inherent charm, she led a fantastical and daring life. She wove exciting tales of expeditions and safari trips she’d organized in Kenya, and how she assisted King George V in peace talks with Italy after the Great War. 

At night around the campfire, Lila shared risque stories of her visits to Hollywood Starlets like Gloria Swanson and Marion Davies that made Adrien blush in embarrassment and retreat to the solitude of his tent. 

During the day, she recounted all the many times the directors had entreated her to be their leading lady and how she refused for the sake of her friends' careers. She even boasted how Charlie Chaplin once performed a slap-stick routine inspired by one of her jokes.

Needless to say, the men hung on her every word.

Adrien initially hired Mlle. Rossi based on her outstanding resume. Particularly her ‘acclaimed’ specialty in both modern and ancient Tibetan. That and the emphasis of her meticulous documentation methods were exactly what he needed. She’d worked her magic on him and like a fool, he bought it.

_“Only a weak man finds himself in a web of lies. Looks are deceiving, my son.” Gabriel Agreste’s grey eyes pierced into him. “If you're going to be successful, it is a lesson you must learn.”_

A few days into their expedition proved that she possessed **none** of those astounding qualifications. She could speak conversational Tibetan, but translating even the common signs in _Lhasa_ existed far beyond her meager talents. 

With no one to properly translate the script, it took everything in Adrien’s skillset to attempt to locate the Temple. Part of him regretted that he hadn’t postponed the two-month-long endeavor. Especially when the historian they recruited, M. Florin, took ill on their first night in _Lhasa_. As of late, Adrien’s bitterness grew to the point where he barely contained his exasperation behind a polite facade around Lila. He wished he could send her away but to do so now might spur a mutiny.

As the trip progressed, Adrien wondered at Lila’s motives. What would a vixen gain from joining their expedition? After all, he had been diligent to advertise their endeavor as scouting for a map-making company. Nor to include his family name. He’d taken the precautionary measures of temporarily assuming Nathalie’s surname while conducting the interviews. And yet… 

Adrien couldn’t shake the horrible notion that Lila knew more than she should. 

Approaching a fork in the path, Adrien refocused on the task at hand. He squinted at his compass. Reassured that they were oriented east, he directed the party to the footpath on the right. As humidity settled into his lungs and seeped his bones, he knew they were close. 

According to the oral tradition about _Kalsang_ , they were in the right area roughly 2 kilometers north of _Lhasa_. Nonetheless, Adrien couldn’t verify anything given the limited written, illustrated, or spoken information of its whereabouts. 

However, Adrien possessed an invaluable clue. A clue he warily guarded, only looking at it when he ensured no one could see. 

Adrien had in his possession an illustrated map of the path to Kalsang. Located at the very entrance of the Temple was a beautifully depicted waterfall. 

That knowledge in hand, Adrien would search and explore every single one until he found _Kalsang_. All because of a misplaced piece of paper in the University archives. As far as Adrien knew, this archaic image was the only hard piece of evidence of the Temple’s existence. 

Climbing the last few meters of the incline, water permeated through the air, dampening his face and clothes. The echoing sound of water increased to a crescendo as the crew rounded the curve of the cliffside; a thick layer of mist floating around them.

A mysterious grey waterfall, the height, and width of a two-story building dropped gracefully over the rocky ridge. Even after weeks of scouting out various water fixtures, the majestic sight blew him away. The roar of the waterfall deafened him to all other non-consequential noises. 

Despite his numb fingertips, a prickling sensation developed throughout Adrien’s limbs as if a live wire were attached to him. The towering natural structure flowed into a short bed of rock before dropping gracefully over the rocky ridge to a 500-meter drop of blackness. Cautious so as not to be swept away into the tumultuous river, Adrien squatted down where the water met stone. 

The incessant spray caused his blonde hair to stick to his temple and his leather boots to slide. His glass lens fogged and droplets of water distorted his vision more; eventually, Adrien removed them and squinted instead. Mindful of the slick surface, he inspected behind the thick aquatic curtain where the rocky path cut off. However, Adrien couldn’t identify anything beyond the unbroken torrid nor through the impending darkness. What he’d give for a flashlight.

Brushing his gloved hand over the stone face beside it, he found no visible marks or symbols. Without proof of anything besides the sensation in his limbs, Adrien couldn’t justify holding the men hostage to the rapidly dropping temperatures.

Slowly shuffling away from the treacherous edge, he half-shouted over the noise, “ _Le Hibou_ , I believe this is as far as we go today. With a good night’s rest, we can look at this with fresh eyes in the morning.”

The crew cheered in swift relief and with renewed strength, started back down the path. Lila disengaged herself from the group to approach Adrien as he gently wiped the water from his glasses. The seductive smirk she fixed upon him made his skin _crawl_.

Luckily, he’d developed a foolproof trick: utilized her likability against her. 

He called out loudly to Robert and Pierre, “Would you be so kind as to escort Mlle. Rossi back to camp? I need a moment to finalize my notes.” To Adrien’s immense relief, they eagerly rushed forth. Lila eyed him suspiciously before linking arms with her solicitous escorts. 

Ever since he figured out her deception, Lila persistently tried to seduce him. It began with innocent offers to inspect this document or that map... in _her_ tent. Or her ‘accidentally’ entering his during the night under the same guise. In the last few days, Lila had forgone all sense of propriety ...entirely by invading his personal space and allowing her unwanted touch to linger. She never wasted an opportunity to kiss him although she rarely caught his lips, landing on his cheeks when he jerked away. 

He shuddered at the memory of each encounter.

Composing himself, Adrien retrieved the map from his satchel. With a delicate hand, he compared the image to the scene before him. While neither exact nor accurate, Adrien felt sure this was the correct location. The rock formations at the base of the painted waterfall matched as well as the curve of the river. Storing his treasure away, he spared the waterfall one last curious glance before following suit. 

* * *

Later that night, Adrien tossed and turned in his cot, attempting to sleep. Despite his mental exhaustion, his body felt alive with energy. In other circumstances, he would’ve welcomed the feeling. A thrill he chased and yearned for ever since he left the battlefield...ever since he left  _ Paris _ . 

Born into the oppressive and idle French aristocracy, rules, protocol, and etiquette dictated every aspect of his existence. While his parents controlled the rest.

They insisted on Adrien’s every waking hour being spent with classical tutors; never permitting him to socialize with those his parents considered “beneath them.” By the age of 9, Adrien spoke four languages fluently, fenced competitively, and mastered the piano. Yet, he possessed not a single friend.

Tragically, Adrien’s mother died of consumption when he was 13. With her, all the light and goodness in his life disappeared too. Consumed by grief, Gabriel Agreste refused to leave their mansion nor could he bear to have his son near him. Essentially an orphan, Adrien was sheltered and cared for by his godmother and family friend, Mme. Sancœur.

Nathalie Sancœur, known for her frugality and rigidity, insisted on raising Adrien according to his parents' wishes: that image and manners came first above all. Freedom of expression, she’d say, was for others who didn’t have the weight of the Agreste family name on their shoulders.

While she clearly cared for Adrien, it could never compare to the love and affection he had once received from his mother. To this day, he still carried Emilie’s picture and brooch with him wherever he went. Yet, Nathalie provided stability to his life. Where his mother was bright and flighty, Nathalie’s care felt like a consistent flame of subtle warmth. 

In 1914, Germany declared war on France, drawing the country into the greatest conflict Europe had ever seen. As the German army marched through Belgium to the French border, Adrien enlisted to serve. After a brief stint on the front-lines at  _ Ardennes _ and  _ Marne _ , he continued his service as a secretary to several high-ranking officers. His proficient skills as a translator and scribe were utilized during conferences with British and American commanders.

Of the specialists employed by the French Military, he grew incredibly close to a British Cartographer. Winston “The Gorilla” Barker’s skills aided the commanding officers in their strategy to end the stalemate on the Western Frontier, the level of accurate topography of the terrain provided many necessary advantages. Over time, Winston became a much-needed paternal figure to him. Several times, while on leave, Adrien accepted Winston’s invitations to visit his wife and children with him in Dover. 

However, upon returning home, terrifying influenza that plagued the frontlines and medical camps devastated the City of Lights. Luckily, despite his volunteer work with one of the local hospitals, he avoided becoming ill. Nathalie and Adrien later learned that his father hasn’t been as fortunate; Gabriel was eventually buried in a plot next to his beloved wife.

At the age of 25, Adrien gained access to his full inheritance of his father’s estate. By 1920, influenza died out in France, so Adrien decided to travel. Assigning a lawyer and accountant to oversee his affairs, he boarded the first train leaving  _ Paris _ with no destination in mind. He had seen some of the French countryside and the Spanish coast, but not nearly enough to quench his all-consuming wanderlust. 

For the first time, Adrien felt free from the confining roles he had been forced to play. 

Son, Student, Soldier.

He could leave those roles behind for a little while. With no rules or appearances to constantly upkeep, Adrien could just be himself. Strolling through unfamiliar streets and towns, Adrien imagined like the whole world laid at his feet. 

After 4 years of traveling and collecting various artifacts, Adrien returned to  _ Paris _ .

For a few months, he resumed his former life of attending stuffy parties and soirees that all passed in a monotonous blur. Being an eligible bachelor, the families of the impoverished aristocracy were determined to throw their daughters at him. Some to secure business alliances or access to money. Others wanted the respect and notoriety that came with the Agreste name and lineage. 

Although he dined with some of his acquaintances and friends from his European tours, his heart ached for something to fill the void in his chest. Most days, Adrien lived and ate alone. 

After a while, Adrien couldn’t find the energy to accept any invitations.

One day, situated at his usual table at  _ Les Deux Magots, _ a very familiar face approached. Winston Barker had waltzed back into  _ Paris _ after accepting a teaching position at the  _ Université de Paris _ . Adrien hung on his every word, fascinated by Winston’s descriptions of the classes and atmosphere of the campus. After parting ways with the promise of dinner later that week, Adrien’s curiosity grew. 

Soon after, Adrien found himself enrolled in academic courses. For once, he didn’t find the information tiresome or boring. Each class excited him, captivating his attention as he learned more about the craft. Once he found the map to  _ Kalsang _ , it became his obsession. The alluring thoughts of traipsing through the dangerous mountain range filled his waking days. 

Unfortunately, reality did not indulge him as much as his imagination. Adventure stories he’d been regaled with rarely went into grand detail about the unpleasant aspects of the journey. The bone-deep exhaustion after hiking for hours on end. Or the arguments over who dug the campsite latrines. Or the passive-aggressive wish that some of the more problematic members of the party would slip and fall off the mountainside...

With the additional setback of M. Florin’s illness, Adrien had been ready to call an end to the whole expedition. 

Lost in thought, restless hours passed as howling winds rattled the thick clothed walls of his tent. The fatigue of sleeping on an uncomfortable cot in frigid temperatures taxed his mental and physical endurance. Not any worse than being in the trenches for any length of time, but close enough. 

If he shut his eyes, he transported himself back to those saturated fields, the whistling of bombshells overhead.

_ After a particularly long meeting of transcribing, Adrien tidied up as Winston collected his maps. While Winston had his hulking back turned, Adrien eyed a particularly large scale grid of Verdun. Noting the grooves and shading about certain points around the city walls; tracing his fingers over the gridded lines.  _

_ A smooth, lilting voice asked in English, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”  _

_ Adrien startled, he answered in French, “Pardonnez-moi?”  _

_ Winston’s intimidating features winced, but he continued in English, “Oh, my apologies. I assumed you spoke English as well. That was rude of me.”  _

_ Adrien laughed nervously and rubbed the back of his neck, “Non, I speak English fluently. I was merely caught off guard.”  _

_ “Not a good thing for a soldier to be.” He chuckled and held out his massive hand. “Name’s Winston Barker, and you are…?” _

_ Shaking hands, Adrien smiled, “Adrien Agreste. I must say that your maps are extraordinary.” _

_ Winston's chest puffed out comically and Adrien knew then how he earned the moniker, The Gorilla. “Why thank you. It takes a long time to get this much detail onto a piece of paper, but it’s truly a labor of love.” _

_ “How so?” _

_ “You see, Adrien, if I may call you that, cartography isn’t just a science. It’s art, it’s interpreting a physical object into a page in a way that anyone can understand it. It’s making a harsh reality into a beautiful image - almost like magic.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Le Hibou - The Owl
> 
> Mio Caro - My Dear
> 
> Pardonnez-Moi? - Pardon me?


	3. Expedition Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your excitement about this story! It is not complete, so it will be uploading as we finish it. 
> 
> Enjoy!

No amount of spasmodic shifting allowed sleep to take him. 

His mind’s eye remained captivated by the roaring dark waters and the potential secrets behind it. The temptation to inspect it alone, unhindered, grew ever more enticing...

“ _ Putain _ ,” he growled and clambered out of his cot.

Once dressed in his yak-wool lined coat, he grabbed his satchel, his maps, and a small knife. With the eerily feeling of watchful eyes, Adrien silently crept out of his tent with a lantern, following the path up the cliff. 

Passing Lila tent’s, a sound of shifting echoed. His heart in his ear, Adrien tensed and paused. 

When no other noise occurred, he carefully stepped away before continuing onward.

An hour-long climb and no small amount of curses later, he found himself staring at the steep rock face. The familiar dull ache in his calves and ankles settled in. Since his muscles have not been allowed time to rest and recover, Adrien became increasingly grateful for the merino wool socks and sturdy boots Nathalie had personally gifted him. Her pragmatic nature supported him even from a few thousand miles away.

As he stood there, the magnetized pull from yesterday only intensified. The pale blues and pinks of the approaching dawn stretched across the skyline. With the new light, he could tease out the tiniest of inscriptions on the stone at the base of the waterfall. The round insignia had been carved to look as if it were another spiral of cracks in the rock, but the symbol was familiar. 

A symbol he recognized.

“ _ Kalsang _ ,” he whispered like a benediction though he felt like cheering in celebration. Adrien’s numbed cheeks ached from the grin that split his face.

Unraveling his journal filled with sketches of the mountain range, he laid it out beside his lantern; his scribbles and anecdotes covered most of the paper. With a pencil in hand, Adrien detailed as many landmarks as he could fit into the margin; the coordinates on his compass, the unique slope between the adjacent mountains, the estimated distance. Cursing to himself for misplacing his straightedge, he drew the lines as neat as possible. 

Satisfied, he carefully stowed his belongings in his satchel.

Slightly light-headed with anticipation, Adrien pushed himself to his feet and spun towards the cliffside. The sun flared as it peeked over the horizon, temporarily blinding him. Trying to regain his sight, Adrien blinked and turned away. 

Adrien stood stunned. Illuminated through the water was a subaqueous cave entrance. 

For a brief moment, he pondered whether or not to return to camp with back-up. Adrien recognized persisting alone could be irresponsible, but deemed it worth the risk. Riding a wave of impulsivity, he decided it couldn’t hurt to at least locate the entrance. 

Setting his lantern off to the side, Adrien secured his satchel firmly around his body and maneuvered it under his coat for additional protection from the water. He pressed his back flat against the stone and stepped under the water stream. Only slightly damp from where he couldn’t avoid the water, Adrien emerged on a solid rock ledge, wide enough for two people to walk side by side. Magnified through the water, the early morning rays further impaired his limited vision. 

Inching slowly over the slick surface, Adrien gripped the stone until he could find the entrance. His left hand grappled at all the cracks and divots; about five meters in, the wall sharply gave way. Adrien hooked his strong hand around the edge and hauled himself into the entryway. 

When the waterfall's constant roar decreased in volume, he realized how his breathing became labored. Smiling, he paused in the tunnel to get his bearings and wipe the residual water from his glasses. Constructed of wide smooth man-made walls, the ceiling tall enough for the average man to stand with ease but Adrien‘s head brushed against the top. Following the cobbled stones, he stepped out into the constant wind.

Peering around his new breath-taking location, Adrien’s bright green eyes widened.  _ “Marie, Mère de Dieu.” _

An isolated valley surrounded by towering mountain ridges. The Temple itself perched magnificently among the ice-covered peaks above, the wind blew swirls of snow around the base. It appeared to be floating in its stony perch and the golden spiked roofs reflected the dawn’s rays giving the illusion of a glowing ember of flames. Consisting of several buildings, the white and red brick structure loomed over the valley. 

Mesmerized, Adrien followed the winding path up the canyon wall, overlooking the gorge below. As he climbed higher and closer, the magnetism intensified to the point that he wasn’t sure if he consciously moved his feet. 

Covered by an ornate metallic overhang, the last stretch of the path provided Adrien mild relief from the relentless chill. Retrieving his journal, he recorded his observations. 

Finally.  _ This _ was his chance to explore. No more interruptions from disgruntled employees and distracting companions. 

Adrien entered the spacious courtyard, where young monks once trained and honed their skills. Several multi-leveled buildings loomed high above him and the whole area gave a distinctively unsettling aura. The ominous atmosphere caused his hair to stand on end and goosebumps rose on his arms. Adrien associated it with the lack of human inhabitants.

On the opposite side of the courtyard stood a strand of metallic cylindrical wheels along the outer wall. Under his boots and the smooth, powdery snow, he could make out the faded scarlet of a painted emblem. 

Adrien calmly sketched the image of the courtyard. However, noted despite the clear signs of abandonment, energy pulsed through the grounds. Much like a sleeping creature bidding, it’s time. He returned his journal to his satchel, considering he would have more opportunities later to document this discovery.

Surveying his surroundings, Adrien noted the largest pagoda with interest, yet a smaller unassuming structure arrested his attention. Wandering toward the left side of the courtyard, Adrien entered what must have been a shrine or prayer room. Under the dense layer of dust, several gold and copper incense burners rested on a small table to the side of a large silver-plated statue. 

The life-sized woman was positioned in a fighting stance. Adorned in a scarlet mask and bespotted robes, she wielded a rounded object attached to her hand by a string. Adrien drew closer to the spotted circular weapon. 

Peering up at the masked warrior, Adrien felt her warm yet judicial approval. He gently brushed his calloused fingers over the surface. The metal slid away easily to reveal a small ornate box with an emblem of carmine red embossed on the lid. Several grooves and ridges were on the sides, similar to secret boxes he had seen in China.

He gingerly removed the object and the metal slid back into place of its own accord. Unable to immediately open it, Adrien gently wrapped the box in a dry handkerchief and placed it into his satchel. Once he returned to  _ Paris, _ he would hire a  _ highly recommended _ professional to inspect it.

For now, it’s best to keep it safe.

Returning to the courtyard, that now-familiar pull became unbearably intense, as Adrien stepped towards an adjacent building. Nearly identical to the woman’s shrine in both size and decoration, this room housed a metallic statue of a man. 

Crouched down, the man appeared ready to pounce as soon as his enemy let their guard down. Instead of spotted red, this figure was dressed entirely in rich black. Donning a thin band over his eyes, the statue wore a Noh mask in the shape of a cat atop his head. His robes fluttered out behind him, the long strips of fabric curling as a cat’s tail might. A long staff rested in his grip and his eyes twinkled with a mischievous gleam.

Adrien’s ears rang as electricity surged through him. In a trance, he hastily placed his satchel on the ground by his feet as he approached the statue. Of its own accord, his hand touched the mask atop the statue’s head. Much like the woman’s weapon, the metal slid to the side revealing an identical box. 

This time, however, Adrien didn't pocket this box. His finger shifted unbidden, pressing and sliding hidden edges and pieces of the puzzle. Engrossed by the object in his hands.

Eventually, the box popped open with a soft click.

Inside rested a black thick, banded ring with a paw print of rich jade inlaid into the crown. Before Adrien could blink, an intense green light blinded him. 

He gasped as a black entity of some kind appeared in front of him. The floating creature yawned, stretching it’s cat-like ears and tail as Adrien just gawked at it. Glaring at him with narrow green eyes, it groused. “Don’t you know it’s rude to stare?” 

Drawn out of his stupor, Adrien lifted his finger to poke its belly, “What are you? Are you like the  _ Jinn _ in the lamp?”

The creature swatted at him, flashing tiny claws. “How am I expected to answer questions when I’m  _ starving _ ? You got anything to eat?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t.” Adrien’s own stomach gave out a gurgle. He hadn’t anticipated being away from camp for this long. Leaving without any rations of food or water in hindsight was not one of his more brilliant ideas.

His cat ears drooped. “Figures, I’m sure the monks have something edible. Anyway, the name’s Plagg.”

“I’m Adrien...so what are you exactly? What were you doing inside this box?”

“Ugh, I always hate doing this song and dance. I only want to say this once, so pay attention: I’m a kwami. I grant powers and yours is the power of destruction. Got it?” 

Adrien eyed the statue, recognizing the similarities between the masked warrior and the cat-like creature before him. “Somewhat. When you say powers? You mean... like magic? There were legends that  _ Kalsang _ housed gods that protected the balance of the universe...would that be you?” 

Plagg nodded.

Running his hands through his hair, Adrien said, “I’m hallucinating, right? I’ve heard the mountain air can make you lightheaded to the point of delirium.”

The kwami rubbed his tiny paws over his eyes, “So you’re one of  _ those _ . Just put the ring on? Then we can get something to eat.” 

Adrien eyed the garnish ring skeptically. He removed his glove before slipping the rine onto the third finger of his right hand. The moment it touched his skin the dark band morphed to an unassuming, plain silver. If he hadn’t been watching it he’d have assumed the change had been a trick of the light.

Adrien asked, “Um Plagg, was it...? Is something supposed to happen?”

“You’re forgetting the incantation,” Plagg sighed as if Adrien’s questions were highly inconvenient.

“What incantation? Like a spell?”

“It’s the only way to transform.”

“Into what?” Adrien glanced at the statue again, “I don’t know any spells.”

Plagg raised an eyebrow, “Did the Guardians explain  _ nothing _ to you? Do I have to do  _ all _ the work?”

The lack of answers grated on Adrien’s nerves. “ _ What _ Guardians? There’s no one else here.”

Plagg stilled, “You’re lying.”

“See for yourself,” Adrien gestured behind him as if to say  _ be my guest _ .

Plagg mumbled something unintelligible then flew out the door. Adrien pulled on his glove and collected his satchel from the floor—odd, he didn’t think he left it by the door—slung it across his torso and stored the box within. He exited the shrine, spying the speeding black blur that was Plagg returning to him.

The kwami thrashed his tail in irritation, “I can’t believe that they ditched us like that! Oooohhh, wait until I tell Tikki about this!” His vivid green eyes gleamed with mischief. 

Adrien shrugged and didn’t bother to ask who Tikki might be. He was still in disbelief but decided to keep his internal panic to himself. A particularly sharp gust blew through them, and the pair shivered.

Before he could protest, Plagg flew into Adrien’s coat and made himself home in his right breast pocket. His fatigue started to weigh on, Adrien figured now would be a good time to return to camp. Perhaps if he fed the kwami and they avoided the shock of hypothermia, he could get some answers. 

Trying to warm his hands as he rounded the corner, Adrien heard the sharp clang of metal on stone. He stood there petrified - the sight before him equaling bewildering and confounding.

In the golden entryway, Lila stooped to retrieve an incense burner from the ground. In her arms were several others and a very familiar-looking box. 

“Mlle. Rossi?” he asked incredulously.

Lila startled at the sound of his voice but quickly recovered. Hastily, she stuffed the stolen relics into a faded canvas bag, angling her body to conceal her actions. She flashed him a smile too strained to pass for coy. “Oh, you startled me,  _ Bello _ .”

“Mlle., what-?”

Lila sauntered closer, adding an exaggerated sway to her hips with each step. “Oh, Adrien. I saw you leave camp and I—and I was so worried for you,  _ Ciccino _ . I had to make sure that you were alright.” He’d admit her acting skills were top-notch, the slight tremble in her voice almost convincing. Too bad, Adrien already knew of her inclination towards manipulation and deceit.

Suspicious, Adrien approached her. 

“I appreciate the concern, Mlle Rossi,” -a bold-faced  _ lie _ \- “However you’ve failed to explain your presence here.” He eyed the black object in her hand - identical to the ones he found in the statues. 

_ Where did she find that? How did she even find the Temple in the first place? _

“How did you…,” the question died on his lips when the realization hit him. “You followed me.” His tone full of steel and he felt Plagg’s growl resonated against his chest.

Adrien discussed the Temple with no one—save for  _ Le Hibou _ .  _ How did she know? Did that quirky old man let something slip? _

He noticed the box peeking out the top of her bag. If that black box contained another kwami, it became crucial that he recover it. The idea of the likes of her having access to a creature that granted magical abilities didn’t sit well with him.

Lila never got the chance to answer. They hear the earth violently crack beneath their feet. Between the gateway and the courtyard, the stone started to split to reveal molten fiery lava underneath. Adrien could feel his hair singe in its intensity. Without missing a beat, she shoved Adrien away and sprinted down the mountain path, desperately clutching her treasure close to her breast.

Effectively blocking his path down the mountain, he scrambled to his feet and rushed into the nearest stone pagoda. Peering out the door, Adrien failed to quell the panic at the natural disaster unfolding before him. His suppressed panic from earlier overwhelmed him.

Plagg poked his head out, hissing, “This wouldn’t be happening if you just knew the spell! You need to transform now!”

Adrien scowled at the kwami and snapped, “That’s  _ extremely _ helpful, so what do we do?!” 

Plagg glanced through the crack of the door and cackled, “Relax, it’s just old Foxface's magic at work.”

Watching the courtyard flood with magma, relaxing was impossible for Adrien. “How? We’re about to  _ die _ !” His voice shrill even to his own ears. His breathing was erratic and he started to feel dizzy.

“Trust me, kid. We’re going to be fine.”

Momentarily distracted, Adrien bristled. “Do  **not** refer to me as a child.”

The kwami scoffed and rolled his giant eyes, “I’m about a couple  _ billion _ years old— I’ll call you whatever I like,  **_Kid_ ** .”

Peeking out into the courtyard, Adrien tried to figure out a ploy to get around the glowing crater. He swallowed hard as more lava oozed over the stone, steadily creeping toward their hiding spot. If he didn’t figure out something and quick they wouldn’t make it out alive. 

At the thought of dying, his thoughts were consumed by regrets of never marrying or raising a family. How he had longed for someone to love and cherish and spend his life with. To kiss his newborn son’s head or rock his cry daughter to sleep or tease his wife.

Nathalie or Winston would never know what happened to him. Unconsciously, he clutched at his mother’s picture and brooch in his left coat pocket. His thumb running over its metallic petals. If he were to die today, at least he would get to see her again.

Plagg floated out his nest and lifted a pebble off the ground. Employing all his tiny might, Plagg chucked it towards the magma. Without any fanfare, the natural disaster evaporated into mist.

Stunned, Adrien whispered, “How did you-”

“ _ Merde _ , what was that?! Perfectly good Mirage ruined!” a feminine voice shrieked, drawing close to Adrien’s hiding spot. The voice most definitely  _ didn’t  _ belong to Lila; this accent carried a lilt of French-Creole rather than Italian. 

An older, masculine voice interrupted, “It served its purpose and scared them off.” His way of accentuating the vowels sounded vaguely Chinese.

“No, only the woman left. There was a man here too—I heard them talking.” Adrien could detect a twinge of worry in her tone.“Where might he have gone?” 

Adrien’s heart started to pound. What would they do to him if he was found? Were these the ‘Guardians’ Plagg spoke of? What would happen if they knew he had Plagg and the ring? What about the other box he found? The one Lila had? Would they blame him for their theft?

The woman seemed to be pacing around the courtyard, “I didn’t see which direction he went, but we should check the shrines. Verify that the Miraculouses are undisturbed.” 

The man hummed in agreement. “I’ll stand watch in case the woman returns. Start with  _ Piáo Chóng _ .” 

“Yes,  _ Shifu _ .” The snow and gravel crunched under her feet as she stalked away. In her absence, Adrien dared to peek. Outside stood an older Asian man dressed in traditional dark robes with vibrant green-plated armor over his chest and arms. A textured conical hat rested on his head, but his face was half-covered by a mask. He gave Adrien the distinct impression of a turtle.  _ Did this man’s costume have anything to do with the statue where Plagg’s ring had been? Is this what a Guardian looks like? _

Plagg contented himself with some forgotten Yak jerky scraps found in one of Adrien’s coat pockets. The feminine voice screamed in alarm, “It’s gone!” 

Adrien gulped. An intimidating auburn-haired woman rushed outside, her burnt orange cloak fluttered behind her. Her outfit gave off the impression of military fatigues and the underlying pants suit and boots were solid black. The cloak was lined in white nondescript fabric with a harness for a flute-like staff. Her golden eyes were surrounded by a multicolored domino mask; an orange  _ forage _ cap decorated with a black brim and long fox-like ears rested on her head. 

_ The statues and the man had traditional garments on, but this woman is wearing modern clothing. How? It is part of the magic?  _ Adrien hoped Plagg could provide some answers.

He ducked down and hid before the pair spotted him.

“ _ How _ ? Only Wielders, Guardians, and the Chosen can reveal the Miraculous from  _ Piáo _ ’s... grasp...” his voice drifted off with his epiphany. 

“Could this mean…?” she asked in wonder.

“The Miraculous of Creation has chosen a Wielder.” The man answered with finality. 

Adrien could feel the woman’s excitement. “It must be that woman. We have to find her! She’s the only one who can cleanse the Akuma. After all these centuries-” 

“She couldn’t have gone far; let’s find her partner. If he’s still here, it is possible he is drawn towards the Miraculous of Destruction.” Adrien looked at his ring.  _ Miraculous? Wielder? Chosen? _

“We should look at  _ Hēi Māo _ . Oh...  _ Shifu _ ?” her excitement wearing off.

“Hmmm?” 

The fox-lady’s voice wobbled. “Forgive me. Guarding the temple is my responsibility and I’ve failed you—” 

“Do not blame yourself. Fate has determined this would happen - we must adjust accordingly.” 

He heard their footsteps venture away from the door, but he didn’t dare move from his hiding spot. Crouching down between a large vase and the wall, Adrien curled into a ball. Plagg appeared to have dozed in his pocket. After a restless night and exciting morning, the exhaustion finally claimed him.

Waking to stiff muscles and a dry mouth, Adrien eyed his surroundings. The pinpricks in his sleeping feet and ankles were painful as the blood rushed back to them. Peeking his head out the door, Adrien searched for the masked persons. He noted that the sun had shifted over the mountain walls of the valley towards its zenith. 

Deeming there was no one left, he silently slipped out. Hiding amongst the stone walls, Adrien slowly crept down the stony corridor unseen. 

Finally, at the entrance to the valley, he quickly walked back and out to the waterfall. Holding onto the stone wall, he repeated his inching out to the waterfall’s edge. Conscious of his every step.

Upon exiting from behind the stream, his coat accidentally absorbed excess water and an irritated Plagg flew out of his jacket. Droplets of water dripped off his inky fur as Plagg shook himself off. “Ugh, I always hated going through there.”

Gazing at the sky, Adrien estimated that at least a few hours had passed since he went through the waterfall; to him, it felt like a lifetime ago. Adrien squeezed out a portion of moisture from his coat before shrugging it back on before cleaning his glasses. Overwhelmed, Adrien didn’t register that Plagg had burrowed back into his self-claimed pocket again. 

As he stepped away from the stream, something cracked beneath his boot. Broken glass was scattered across the stone; Adrien noticed his lantern broken and twisted nearby. 

Opening his satchel, he realized the absence of the second black box and after a few moments of frantic search, he discovered that the box, his map to Kalsang, notebook, and wallet were all missing.

It didn’t take much to deduce what happened, that a certain sticky-finger stalker stole them. 

Sighing, he began the trek back to the campsite. All the while thinking of all the proper and improper things he imagined saying when he saw Lila Rossi. 

To hell with the mutiny—he was sending that useless woman back to  _ Lhasa _ . Or maybe just toss her over the cliffside. Plagg’s enthusiastic suggestions only made the notion more tempting. 

When he arrived at the flat area of their campsite, he was shocked to find it deserted. All the equipment. All their tents and traveling gear. All of his belongings. Gone.

Adrien kicked a forgotten empty canteen in frustration. 

He can only imagine what happened. 

No doubt the crew thought he was dead and wouldn’t bother a rescue mission for a corpse. Quietly resigned, he gathered a blanket and book that were left behind in his crew’s wake. He wrapped himself and Plagg in the scratchy wool, Adrien hoped it would help stave off the chill. At least until they reached a nearby village. 

Extracting his compass from his satchel, he started down the mountain. A grumbling stomach and Plagg in tow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bello - Handsome
> 
> Ciccino - Darling


	4. Lhasa: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The biggest shout out to Gigi_Bug for being the best beta I could have ever asked for!

**Lhasa, Tibet - March, 1926 C.E.**

“ _Salut,_ _mon frère_! I’ll be back by sundown.”

Already late for her morning meeting, she didn’t have time to spare for Nino to finally give a coherent response. A sleepy grunt was the only answer Marinette received as she secured their apartment door. 

Outside, Marinette set a brisk pace through the chilly morning air. The difference sent shivers down her spine. Pulling her coat closer about her shoulders, she noticed the clear pale blue sky; all the clouds had dissipated overnight. Small patches of sunlight poked through the low buildings, providing a hint of warmth.

Celebrations for the Tibetan New Year, Losar, had ended the week prior. Most of the tourists had already left the city and the area near their flat was noticeably less crowded. Yet, the edges of the streets and buildings were still littered with scraps of food and paper. They had arrived on the first day of Losar, she remembered the Temple and streets being crowded by pilgrims and locals alike as masked dancers performed and the monks chanted. It had been wonderful.

A year of Tiger and Fire was a year predicted to hold great change. Tigers were considered one of the strongest and powerful of the zodiac, while Fire represented strength and warmth. Both were associated with the color red which is auspicious and represents good fortune. Marinette wished for just a small part of that luck for herself, especially as her work really began.

In the two weeks since their arrival, Marinette had grown to love Lhasa. The streets were vastly different from Paris; Boisterous and full of an exotic mixture of spices and tea marred only by subtle pollution. Not quite as pungent as the Seine river in the middle of the summer, but enough to wrinkle Marinette’s nose when she first arrived. 

The quickest route to the Temple was through _Barkhor_ Street, located in the heart of the city; it was a veritable labyrinth of stalls and carts. Marinette began expertly navigating through the immense crowd as they clogged the paths through the market. 

Throughout the city center, vendors shouted and auctioned off various items, selling postcards of the _Polota_ palace and temples, and other trinkets to tourists and locals alike. Occasionally, she brushed past a yak or wooden cart or heard the gentle twinkling of bells and chimes. Halfway through the market’s maze, Marinette ducked through a small hidden alley, popping up behind Jampa’s stall. The wizened old woman who tended to the cart of beautifully woven fabrics greeted her with a quiet smile and a nod.

Racing through the less crowded area, Marinette almost tripped as a few children dashed out in front of her. Their feet slapped against the cobblestones before darting away, giggling with mischief. She couldn’t help but smile at their infectious delight.

She sprinted as the Temple came into view. Her lungs burned as she shot around the last rows of merchants and buyers. The thin mountain air never seemed to provide enough oxygen to maintain a steady pace.

Marinette’s anxious mind prevented her from properly resting the night before--no matter how many times Nino tried to get her to sleep. The trip here had been _intolerant, utterly_ intolerant. No small thanks to Chloe Bourgeois, daughter of _Le Maire de Paris,_ and a patron of their department. She had spent the better part of their three-day journey complaining about everything: from the rocking of the train to their cramped sleeping quarters to her unwilling companions.

 _“I refuse to believe that this is the best jacket you have. Only a spinster would consider this fashionable.” Mlle. Bourgeois tossed the rose-colored garment to the side. “The fact that you wear such a hideous thing in my presence, it’s utterly ridiculous.”_

“Ridiculous,” Marinette muttered in between her panting.

Despite her speculations, Mlle. Bourgeois’s insistence on joining an educational excursion continued to be a mystery. 

On the other hand, Marinette’s acting supervisor, Dr.Fu, was a polite elderly Chinese professor from the _Université de Paris_. Naturally, Marinette was nervous about dealing with Mlle. Bourgeois and learning more about the Temple. 

She rushed through the crowds, ignoring the butterflies in her stomach. Passing by the stone _sankang_ , the _Jokhang Temple_ gates reared up in front of her, bright and colorful. Marinette ducked into the courtyard. Several people were loitering or chatting or humming prayers, spinning prayer wheels in hand. The scent of incense flooded her senses as she peered around, unsure of which direction to follow.

Her meeting with Dr. Fu and Mlle. Bourgeois was scheduled for a quarter past 8. 

Marinette quickly peeked at her tiny wristwatch. It was now almost 9. 

Panicking at her tardiness and unfamiliar with the layout of the _Jokhang_ Temple, she wasn’t sure which door was the correct one. A few days ago, their brief tour was cut short with Dr. Fu had an urgent matter to attend to. Taking a gamble, Marinette bolted to the first door on the left. Throwing open the worn scarlet stained wood, she ran inside; right into a sea of ochre and mustard garbed monks. Most appeared bewildered at her sheer audacity of interrupting the morning prayers and mantras.

Marinette felt her cheeks stain crimson as she retreated from the room; giving a slight bow. “ _Gong-da. Gong-da_.”

In her hasty bid for escape, she smacked right a monk and the gigantic standing bell he was playing. Marinette and the monk landed with a thud on the floor; the bell resounding a low metallic hum. Painfully sitting up, she noticed the bell began to titter on its wooden stand. 

“Oops,” came out barely as a whisper from Marinette’s lips. Her ears were ringing as she witnessed the heavy object fall in slow-motion. It bounced before it began to roll out the door. Leaping unsteadily to her feet, she attempted to grab the bell as it continued steadily down the steps into the courtyard. 

**CLANG CLANG**

Peeking up, she watched in horror as the bell rolled away; two young monks scrambled to give chase. Before she took a step, she tripped on someone’s robes and face planted on to the hard tiled floor.

“What on earth…?” Dr. Fu exclaimed as he and Mlle. Bourgeois came into view. 

“Look out!” Marinette cried as the bell gained momentum and headed for them.

Mlle. Bourgeois swiftly pushed Dr. Fu aside and readied herself in front of the impending object. She braced herself with strength and ease that Marinette would never have expected of an upper-class woman. With a final, petulant clang, the bell rested in front of her. Wordlessly, Mlle. Bourgeois stepped away, nonchalantly dusting off her custard colored jacket.

Marinette was bewildered. _How did she…?_

A few pairs of calloused hands ushered her outside of the prayer room to the steps. Seated, Marinette unconsciously rubbed her aching head and noticed that her neck was now sore. 

Outside, several monks retrieved the bell, some shooting her thinly veiled looks of exasperation. The poor young man she collided with slowly limped out of the prayer room. Overwhelmed with sheer guilt and embarrassment, Marinette felt tears beginning to form. Yet, she stubbornly refused to let them fall, grinding her teeth. 

“Mlle. Dupain-Cheng, are you alright?” Dr. Fu and one of the older monks were checking her over for any injuries, a gentle finger grazed over the back of her head and Marinette hissed sharply in pain. _That’s going to be a bump tomorrow._

Mlle. Bourgeois spared her no such sympathy. She stood with her hip cocked and her arms crossed, oozing arrogance. “What is the meaning of this, Dupain-Cheng?!” It grated on Marinette’s nerves. “Explain yourself or are you always this incompetent?” Her haughty scowl permanently marred her beautiful features. Regardless, her impeccable clothes and artful bun held by a bee comb made her all the more intimidating. Even after her feat of strength, not a hair was misplaced.

“I’m so very sorry! It was an accident. I didn’t mean to-” she stuttered, an unfortunate nervous habit from her schoolgirl days. Despite her best effort to be calm and composed, she couldn’t find her usual inner strength. In all of her professional experience, Marinette never had a colleague ever make her feel so inferior - at least so directly.

“You kept us waiting over a half an hour.” Mlle. Bourgeois sneered, “Are you incapable of being on-time, or is your tardiness on par with your habitual clumsiness? What about the damages to an ancient artifact or how insulted the monks now that you’ve committed a _faux pas_ during a sacred ritual? You’re _utterly_ useless!” 

Dr. Fu placed a reassuring hand on Marinette’s shoulder. “Now, now Mlle. Bourgeois, there is no need for unkind words. Accidents happen to the best of us. I’m sure Mlle. Dupain-Cheng has an adequate reason for her delay.”

Marinette blinked away the tears and cleared her throat. _She was a scholar, not a small child to be scolded_. “I really do apologize for my lateness. Rest assured, it won’t happen again.” 

Mlle. Bourgeois scoffed, but Dr. Fu nodded in cool acceptance. Offering Marinette a compassionate smile, he suggested, “We can reschedule for next week. You must still be weary from the journey and the new year's celebrations.”

Marinette was about to argue when Dr. Fu held up his hand. “Don’t worry, I'll apologize to the monks for you. I suggest you go home, they may assume you’re carrying bad luck if you linger.” 

Mlle. Bourgeois grimaced but mercifully kept her comment to herself.

Recognizing a dismissal, Marinette said, “Thank you. I won’t disappoint you next time.” He gestured for her to depart and both her colleagues turned to speak with the monks.

Instead of returning to their temporary home, Marinette detoured through the streets. 

_You’re utterly useless!_

She remembered the day she had earned a scholarship to _Université de Paris_ to study linguistics; one of the few female scholars in the program. How excited her parents were for her, that she was going to be an amazing linguist and make fantastical discoveries...

“Maybe I am...maybe I’m not cut out for this," she muttered to herself.

Marinette felt the unshredded tears return to her eyes, letting the noises of the streets drown out some of her more self-deprecating thoughts. Her heels clicked on the stone as recounted all the times she had considered admitting defeat.

_Peasant_

_Pauper_

_Amateur_

_Clueless_

After all those years of working her way through university, all the discrimination she faced…it seemed hopeless. 

Absent-mindedly, she somehow arrived at the yellow brick building she now-called home. Marinette stooped down into the doorway, then climbed the wooden steps up to the second floor. Opening the door to their small single room apartment, Marinette sighed. Two metal beds sat on the far wall along with their trunks in various stages of unpacking. The tiny space only had a washing basin and a small stove. Sunlight illuminated through the windows that oversaw a balcony, filled with the comforting scent of roasted coffee beans as Nino sat at a wooden table.

Cramped, but cozy.

To announce her return, Marinette tossed her satchel onto the floor with a loud **THUD!** Startled, Nino sputtered into his coffee cup, resulting in half the contents spilling onto the table.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, not even bothering to hide her irritation.

Nino mopped up the excess liquid. “It’s alright. You bolted out of here an hour ago - I didn’t expect you back until dark.” 

She plopped into the chair beside him, “I know.”

“What happened?” His amber eyes were full of patience. Even though Nino had born witness to a plethora of Marinette’s unfortunate accidents, she felt a fresh wave of embarrassment.

She dropped her forehead on the wooden surface, “Please, don’t ask.”

“This calls for a drink.” He retrieved a bottle of cognac from a small cupboard near the stove.

“Nino,” Marinette shot him a disapproving glare, “it’s 10 o’clock in the morning.”

Pouring her and himself a small glass, he smirked at her, “Are you gonna turn it down?” Marinette held out, determined to win this battle of wills before reluctantly admitting defeat. _He knows me too well._

“No,” she begrudgingly took the liquor. After a few sips, Marinette stopped wrinkling her nose in disgust and she recounted the incident.

"Those must weigh a ton,” Nino commented, swirling his drink around. His tone slightly impressed as he watched the amber liquid refract in the late morning light.

Marinette considered that fact for a moment as she delicately sipped the alcohol. "The standard weight for a standing bell, at least the large ones, from the 9th century weighed about 75 kilograms. I would estimate that one weighed twice that." 

Nino chuckled, "Does reciting that fact make you feel any better?"

"...not exactly..." Chloe’s cutting comments about her competency had Marinette questioning herself. 

Yet, the more that Marinette thought about how prim and proper Chloe Bourgeois stopped a solid metal 150 kg bell from bowling her over, the less she understood any of it. As she tried to imagine the scene, her memory seemed to grow fuzz. Maybe it’s from bumping her head, which began to throb increasingly as Marinette remembered it’s presence. _But some seemed off..._

Nino’s laughing tone cut through her thought pattern. “Still up to your antics, you haven't changed a bit, Mari.”

“ _Ugh_.” Marinette pressed her palms into her eyes as he chuckled. While she was grateful for his presence and support, Marinette wished she could have taken this journey on her own.

Nino and Marinette had been friends ever since childhood; she often imagined that if she ever had a biological brother, they would have a similar relationship. 

Together, they survived through the harshest points of the decade. The Great War eventually caused such intense rationing that Nino’s parents relied on Tom and Sabine to help keep their children fed. Especially when his father was injured in a factory fire and unable to work. 

In the end, though, influenza claimed both his parents with many others throughout _Paris_. Marinette’s mother had nursed Nino and his younger brother, Chris, through the illness. Still regaining his strength, Nino, at 17, was talking about getting a factory job to support him and Chris. Despite knowing the horrible working conditions.

Marinette's parents wouldn’t hear of it and insisted on adopting the boys. Chris loved the bakery and Sabine spoiled him rotten. Nino worked, becoming a skilled baker under Father’s tutelage. 

Through it all, Nino was always passionate about music. At night, once the bakery was closed, he experimented with different instruments. Performing for the family, some pieces were classical European, some reflected his Morrocan heritage or an exotic medley of the two. Especially when American music, like Jazz, traversed it’s way to France, Nino’s pieces became more riotous. 

As children, Nino told Marinette that he dreamed of being a modern composer and performer. Until then, he would make sure they got by. That’s why when Marinette was offered the opportunity to travel to Tibet, her parents insisted on him accompanying her. For their three month stay, Nino would take the opportunity to work on his compositions while Marinette spent her days and nights surrounded by manuscripts and research. His presence did make her feel safer in this new environment.

Her head still resting on the table, Nino quietly slid a notebook and a small ornate object towards her.

“Here. I was going to wait until your birthday next month, but I think you need cheering up now.”

Marinette eyed the gifts and shook her head, “Nino, you shouldn’t have bought anything for me.” 

Nino gave her a sweet smile, “O _khti,_ just thought it might cheer you up.”

She critically eyed the items, picking up the notebook. The leather was fairly worn, it born spots of water damage and stains. “You couldn’t have gotten me a new journal?”

As she leafed through it, she took note of the abstract drawings and random computations. A soft piece of paper fell out. Clearly much older than the notebook, it piqued her interest. With a warm smile, Marinette gently unfolded the worn paper and gasped. It depicted a gorgeous Chinese-style illustration. Delicately painted hills of light green mint encircled the top half page. The bottom half, a pale swirling river flowing into a waterfall, created an illusion of a Temple floating among the clouds. Cream and scarlet structures of the temple sat in the center with a halo of small detailed animals surrounding it. Skimming her finger over the images, Marinette counted 19 total. _Odd numbers are considered blessed, this must be a holy place_. 

“Nino, where...where did you get this?” Marinette whispered in reverence.

He leaned back in his chair, a grin gracing his bronze features, “I went to the market yesterday to get a few things when this woman approached me.” Marinette gingerly spread the artifact out on the table.

She raised a brow at him. “A woman?” she asked teasingly, refocusing on to the pages of the journal, she inspected the loose sketches of the mountains. _Who does this belong to?_

His features turned cocky, “Yes, Italian, very pretty if I do say so myself. With green eyes that just _popped_!”

“You would know, wouldn’t you?” Marinette clucked her tongue at him.

Nino playfully glared at her, “ _Anyway_ , she told me this story about an expedition with her lover, Andrè, or something, and he died while they were in the mountains.”

“How tragic…” She eyed the absolute chicken scratch that almost deciphered as _‘Août’_ . “ _Maybe it’s that man’s last name._

Nino continued rambling, “She had a bag of items.” He furrowed his brow in disgust. “Most of it appeared to be stolen goods like pocket watches, jewelry, and a few books. But she had that box and I just knew you’d love it.”

Marinette simply nodded, eyeing the little box in question. Undoubtedly beautiful with its dark lacquer wood and carved details, yet Marinette felt incredibly apprehensive about opening it. “How much?”

Nino gave her a guilty look. “Well, she started to cry and wail the guy’s name...what was it...I’m pretty sure she said something-A-reste.” Marinette gazed at the cursive letters. Now she read ‘Agreste’.

“Agreste?” _Why does that name sound familiar?_

Nino snapped his fingers, “Yeah, that’s it! She was saying how she’ll never return home to Italy to see her family without any money.” His expression morphed into sheepishness, “ ...I’m ashamed to admit I caved.”

Marinette became suspicious, “How much?” Nino mumbled in response. “Nino, how much did you give her?”

“She asked for ₣20, which I thought was outrageous.”

She snorted, “I should say so. Then how much did you...” Nino continued to avoid looking at her and Marinette put the pieces together.

“Nino! It was _obviously_ a sham. 20! That was our entire monthly budget for food!”

“She was _so convincing_!” Nino sighed and rubbed his hands over his face “ ...I’m sorry, but the box is still pretty nice though.”

Marinette sighed. _What’s done is done._ “You bought the box for ₣20, how much for the map and the journal?” 

Nino’s sly smirk returned, “Actually, she dropped them as she walked away. Like the _gentleman_ I am, I retrieved them for her, yet she already disappeared.”

Marinette studied the hand-painted characters. _They appear to be authentic. Wonder if it’s stolen or perhaps a forgery?_ She would need a second opinion; Forgeries weren’t uncommon with artifacts such as this.

As Marinette examined the ornate box again, her fingers began to tingle. She watched her hands move of their own accord, lifting the box close to her. Skimming over the sides, shifting and pushing the wooden edges until it gently unlatched.

Nino gawked, “How did you…?”

Her ears buzzed with anticipation. “I have no idea.” They both held their collective breath as she lifted the lid. Marinette caught a glimpse of something round and metallic before the pair were engulfed. They shielded their eyes from a bright pink light. 

A small creature landed on the table in front of them, red with a large black spot on its forehead. It’s wire-thin antenna curved around their head as it stared at them with huge blue eyes. 

The strange entity gave them a smile and wave, “Hello, I’m Tikki. It’s very nice to meet you two.” Her voice was feminine and sweet and her movements were graceful as she floated closer.

“Ah! It’s a mouse, a bug-mouse,” Marinette screamed and jumped behind her brother while Nino just gaped at it. 

Without thinking Nino grabbed his empty cup and slammed it over the tiny being. 

Tikki smiled congenitally at them. “If that makes you feel safer.”

Nino narrowed his gaze at her through the glass, “What are you? I’ll have you know, my _Mama_ and _Baba_ warned me against accepting any wishes from a _Jinn_.”

“ _Jinn_ ’s grant wishes, I grant the power of Creation with the Miraculous.” Marinette and Nino shared a look of disbelief.

Peering around her brother, but keeping him solidly in front of her as a shield, Marinette piped up, “What’s a Miraculous?”

Tikki phased through the glass to the box to brush her paw on the earrings, still resting in the box. Marinette now had a look at them; delicate and tiny, the jewels were carefully crafted from raw ruby and obsidian and arranged in a spotted pattern. “These are the Miraculous of Creation. Now, who solved the puzzle?” Her antennae bobbed as she eyed the two of them.

Nino merely stared at the glass, pondering how Tikki flew through it. He experimentally attempted to trap Tikki again, only for her through the glass once more, and shoot him a chiding look for it. He smiled sheepishly at her. 

“I suppose that would be me.” Marinette stepped around Nino and sat back down, her curiosity starting to override her initial fear. “How did you know one of us completed the puzzle?”

“Only the Guardians and the chosen are granted the knowledge to open the box. Since I had to explain about the jewels, fate has chosen you to wield the Miraculous.”

Marinette’s brow furrowed as she scrunched up her nose, “Tikki, not to be rude, but I don’t... understand.”

“Me neither.” Nino pipped in. His voice high and the still empty glass in his hand.

Tikki grabbed the jewelry and floated in front of Marinette, “Would you mind putting on the earrings?”

Hesitantly, Marinette removed the modest pearls she usually wore and donned the ostentatious pair. 

Nino blinked and rubbed his eyes, “I might be imagining this… but I think the earrings changed color.”

Marinette rushed over to the tiny mirror above the washing table, the loud pattern had given way to a tasteful black and silver. Tikki floated into the picture, startling Marinette.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. Again.”

Patting Tikki’s surprisingly soft head, Marinette smiled, “It’s alright, this is quite a bit of information to process.” 

Tikki’s stomach growled. “May I have something to eat?”

Nino answered, his shock wearing off, “Is there something, in particular, you’d like? I’m afraid we're out of ambrosia.”

Tikki giggled at the joke, “I would like something sweet, but I’m not picky.”

“Maman sent us with a tin of _Sable Breton_. Would that be good?” Marinette asked.

Tikki cocked her head to the side. “ _Sable Breton_?”

“Have you never had cookies before?” 

Tikki shook her head, “I can’t say I have, it’s been a while since I’ve been awake.” Nino pressed a thin cookie into her paws. After a tentative bite, Tikki chewed her treat in delight, relishing it’s sweet and buttery flavor. “This is delicious!”

“Thank you, I’ll be sure to let Papa know you approve,” Marinette laughed. Tikki smiled as Nino gave her another cookie.

After Tikki had polished off two more cookies, she brushed the remaining crumbs off with her paws. “Thank you for the cookies. Now, we should discuss what powers you have now.”

“Powers?”

“Yes, these manifest from creation: Lucky Charm and Miraculous Ladybug. I find it’s best for you to experience them, rather than have me explain them.”

Marinette felt skeptical. “Alright, how do I activate these powers?”

“First, you need to say the incantation to summon me to the Miraculous?”

“What incantation? I know a few mantras, but none that speaks to this.”

“Oh, dear...by chance, don't you happen to have another box with a ring in it?”

Marinette shook her head, “I’m afraid not.”

Tikki deflated. “I was afraid you would say that.”

Nino bit into his own cookie, “May we ask why?”

“Plagg, that’s the kwami of Destruction and his Miraculous is a ring, and we are meant to be awakened together. So if I’m here, he can’t be too far or maybe he will be awakened soon. We should find him quickly - if unchecked, he easily gets into... mischief.”

Nino chuckled, “What mischief can a kwami get into?”

Tikki’s expression turned grave. "What do you know about the dinosaurs?”

He rubbed the back of his neck and pondered, “Limited, there were several bones found recently if I recall.”

“Well, Plagg is the reason they no longer exist.”

Nino gulped nervously

Marinette cut in, “We don’t know where he is. It’s only by chance we became in possession of this box.” Jointly, Marinette and Nino explain what led to their current predicament.

Tikki was thoughtful, “I see, that complicates things.”

Nino asked, “What can we do to help?”

“We need to find Plagg and the Miraculous of Destruction,” Tikki responded.

“How?” Nino reached for another cookie as Marinette smacked his hand. 

Silently chiding him, she stored the cookie tin away, “Maybe we could find that woman, did you catch her name?”

“I sincerely doubt that we’ll be able to find her. If she’s pawning stolen goods, it’d be stupid of her to linger in the city much longer.

Tikki pipped in, “Maybe we should go back to the temple? Perhaps Plagg is still there?”

“Do you know where it is, Tikki?”

Tikki paused and shook her head, “The path will have changed with time and might not be unsafe for humans or non-miraculous wielders to travel. But I can get us close to it.”

“Alright,” Marinette mused, “We have the maps, maybe we can use them to find its location until Tikki can lead us. We’d need to gather a few clues to put us in the right direction. Not to mention gather some supplies and hire a guide...”

Nino pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing his hand over his eyes, “Is this one of your hare-brained schemes?”

Marinette smirked at him, “If I said it was?.”

“...I’m in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Salut, mon frère - Bye, my brother  
> Le Maire de Paris - The Mayor of Paris  
> Université de Paris - Unveristy of Paris  
> Sankang - incense burners  
> Gong-da - Sorry  
> Okhti - sister  
> Sable Breton - butter cookies


	5. Lhasa: Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another shoutout to Gigi_Bug for having edited this chapter a month and a half ago...which I just posting now. T_T I deeply apologize. 
> 
> Thank you all for your patience and I hope you enjoy the chapter. :)

Chapter 3:

_ March 1926 _

Nino wouldn’t consider himself a religious man nor a superstitious one. Yet, after meeting Tikki and learning what she knew about the Miraculous, he was willing to go on a little faith.

History never interested him - he preferred modernity. Electricity, motor cars, and jazz to name a few. Observing Marinette’s excitement over the map the day before, he figured that she admired the drawings and nothing more. 

However, when she spent the better part of yesterday evening with the map and journal splayed out on the floor, his curiosity began to grow. As the day wore on, Tikki and Marinette’s joyful exclamations increased as they continued writing an endless amount of notes. Happy for his sister, Nino quietly sat by tuning his various instruments. As the afternoon faded into twilight, Tikki curled upon his shoulder. His music eventually lulled her to sleep - her tiny frame gently rising and falling as her breathing slowed. 

No matter how happy Marinette might be, it didn’t excuse the **_ungodly hour_ ** she decided to wake him and their kwami the next morning. Her desperation and excitement to discuss the map and whatever other findings were too much for him.  _ And she was supposed to be the late sleeper. _ The frequency of the times her mother had to drag Marinette from hibernating came to mind.

Marinette bounced on her knees, shifting his mattress. “Nino, remember that log I found from the King’s court?” She whispered with enthusiasm. 

Nino blinked at her blearily, his eyes still adjusting to the early morning light. “Sure…” He didn’t, but that would require a longer explanation than he wanted to hear. 

“Well, I think this map leads to that monastery, you know the one that disappeared? I found some faded characters in the corner that matches the name of the scribe dictated in that manuscript. I’m pretty sure it’s pronounced  _ Kalsang _ .” 

Nino yawned, his jaw crackling. “If you say so.” He rolled back over, nuzzling his face back into his warm pillow. She could talk to him all she wanted if he could just sleep.

Marinette playful shoved at his shoulder, “Come on. Get up.”

“Why do _ I _ have to get up?” He groaned into his pillow.  _ This is supposed to be a holiday for me. _

She scooted off the mattress and started getting dressed. “We need to talk to Dr. Fu.”

He laid there for a few moments until the click of her boots signaled that she was fully-clothed. With a groan, he flopped over to face her. “ _ We _ ?” 

Marinette sent him a glare through the mirror as she brushed her midnight locks. “Yes,  _ we _ . You’re the one that found it.”

“I don’t know anything about all this. I’m just along for the ride.” Nino propped himself up against the pillow, frowning as the cold air invaded his warm blankets.

“Nino Lahiffe,” Marinette wielded her hairbrush at him, “you would make your _only_ sister go by herself. What if something happened to me?”

Originally, he was going to state that nothing would happen to her, but then an idea dawned on him. He snickered. "Sic a standing bell on them."

She let out an indignant squawk and whipped her brush at him. He barely felt it hit his leg through the blankets but, yeah. He deserved that one.

"Oh no! I'm under attack!" He feigned, rolling over and pulling his pillow over his head. "Tactical retreat!"

Nino, laughing, peeked from under his fluffy shield. The laughter died in his throat as she saw her face. Because at that moment, of course, Marinette utilized her secret weapon. Her baby doll eyes grew to twice their size as she pouted, “Please,  _ mon frére _ .” 

_ Oh no.  _ The nickname always got him. Everyone knew that the men in Marinette’s life were wrapped around her finger. But at least, he didn’t have to  _ seem _ like a push-over.

“ _ Alright _ ,” Nino griped. “Give me a few minutes. I didn’t shave last night.”

About an hour later, they were all in Dr. Fu’s tiny makeshift office at the monastery. Tikki hid in his inner breast pocket to fend off the chill from their brisk morning walk as she nibbed on the small stash of sweets. Sitting in a rickety chair beside the door, Nino tried to occupy himself by examining details throughout the room instead of listening to what was happening.

Nino, in his time with Marinette, endured many boring and awkward lectures - particularly when Marinette went on one of her diatribes. On their first day in _Lhasa_ , he received a  **thorough** education of the city’s history from the seventh century to the newest building constructed in the last five years. Who needed a history book when he had his sister? Marinette nearly burst at the seams, desperate to relay all the knowledge she ever learned about the city to him.

_ Trailing behind his sister through the Temple gates, he casually glanced around. He noticed the gentle music permeated through the air accompanied by soft chanting and brightly dye fabrics that decorated the courtyard. “Did you know the Jokhang Temple was built in 647 AD by King Songtsen Gampo? Who was in fact the first King of Unified Tibet during the Tang Dynasty? Then in 630 AD, he married Princess Bhrikuti, the sister of the Nepalese King. Now, this is where things get really exciting...” _

Just by remembering that day, Nino felt a headache coming on. Trying hard to stay awake, he turned his attention to other people in the room. 

Dr. Fu calmly examined the antique map with a magnifying glass, completely unperturbed as Mlle. Bourgeois bickered with Marinette. Nino didn’t have any warm feelings to spare towards the Mayor’s daughter, especially after their initial meeting where she mistook him for a servant. Perhaps the most unpleasant person he's ever had the misfortune of meeting. The woman certainly knew how to locate a sore spot and pick at it with the subtlety of a wasp swarm. If it wouldn’t reflect poorly on his sister, he would have given the woman a good smack already. Or perhaps let Marinette do it. 

Mlle. Bourgeois sighed, “ _ Clearly _ , you don’t understand the difference between authentic and forged artifacts.” He figured she could be considered attractive if her features weren’t always pinched in disgust.

Marinette stood her ground, not even Mlle. Bourgeois’s tone could diminish her excitement. “Rest assured, it’s genuine! Examine the seal in the corner, it’s from Gongma Drakpa Gyaltsen in the thirteenth century.” From her satchel, Marinette retrieved a book. “I can prove it.”

“ _ Utterly ridiculous waste  _ of our time. It’s OBVIOUSLY forged.”

Irritation leaked into Marinette’s voice, “How would you possibly know? I’ve been studying Tibetan linguistics and culture for the last 7 years while your primary concern lay with flaunting the newest  _ Chanel _ styles!”

Mlle. Bourgeois casually peered at her nails, “At least, I can afford it.”

"Yes, spending  _ daddy's money _ is on par with academic achievement." 

“How  _ dare _ you! I’ll have you know-”

At that moment, Dr. Fu smoothly maneuvered himself between the two women. A pity because Nino was dying to see Mari punch that snooty woman in the face. “Ladies, please. There’s no need to argue. Mlle. Dupain-Cheng, I believe Mlle. Bourgeois is correct that this is a forgery.” 

At this point, Nino felt the pricking of annoyance towards their guide. 

Clearing his throat, he started, “I’m not an expert, Dr. Fu-”

“No kidding,” Mlle. Bourgeois muttered loudly.

Nino frowned. “As I was saying, sir, I believe that Marinette is right that the Temple might exist.” 

Dr. Fu peered at him, “Do you have any evidence to substantiate that claim?” Mlle. Bourgeois simply glared in disgust.

With eyes now on him, Nino uncomfortably shifted in the chair. “Well, um…,” he felt tiny paws pressed into his chest and Nino peered down. Tikki gave him a big grin and gestured for him to continue. Turning back to his audience, he locked eyes with Marinette. She gazed at him in wonderment and surprise, a small smile curling on her lips as she gave him a short nod. Confidence filled his chest, _ I can do this. I won’t let stage fright get to me. _ “Sir, you claim it’s a forgery, right?”

“Yes.”

“How can someone forge the seal of a little-known king from the 13th century? It doesn’t make sense. Why would a king even put his seal on a map like that unless it was real? Why bother to even have made a map unless it was intended for use?” A surge of pride course through him as his sister and Tikki both gave him a thumbs up.  _ Maybe those history lessons are paying off after all.  _

Dr. Fu stroked his beard in contemplation. “Thank you for your excellent questions. While we appreciate your sentiments and support for your sister, there’s something you must understand.” Nino left himself deflate. "For all intents and purposes, the Temple is a myth. There is no _empirical_ evidence to support Marinette’s claims, besides this map which we can’t verify-”

“But I  _ can _ ,” Marinette rummaged through her satchel and presented a small notebook. “I found a record in the archives of the University and transcribed it into French.” Turning to the correct page, she handed it to Dr. Fu - who untied it while Mlle. Bourgeois peered over his shoulder. “It was a scribe’s meeting minutes for audiences with  _ Gongma _ Drakpa Gyaltsen - one of the visitors was the Abbot of the  _ Kalsang _ monastery,” Marinette’s smile morphed into a smirk. “If it were a myth, why would there be an Abbot? Or why would anyone record the event?”

The pair were at a loss for words; Mlle Bourgeois’s expression appeared more irritated than convinced. Nino couldn’t fathom why they were fighting Marinette so hard on this.  _ Wasn’t the whole reason for this trip to find more evidence about this place? Wouldn’t this discovery be considered groundbreaking news?  _

Dr. Fu’s expression was indecipherable as he spoke. “Once we’re back in Paris, I’ll insist on you showing me this document.” He returned the notebook to Marinette’s possession though he seemed reluctant to do so. “For now, let me take another look at this map.” 

Marinette appeared relieved and Nino felt himself relax back into the chair.  _ Perhaps, this would work out after all. _

Mlle. Bourgeois remained unconvinced and sneered at Mari. “We shouldn’t waste our time with this  **fake** document, regardless. Not until we have proven that Mlle. Dupain-Cheng's statement is even true.”

Marinette’s eyes darkened in rage, “What exactly are you accusing me of?”

The women continued to bicker as Dr. Fu strolled to the desk, holding the paper close to a candle. 

_ Why would anyone light a candle in the middle of the day? The sun is as bright as ever through the windows? _ Nino continued to observe the stout man. Noticing that when his sleeve rode up, he sported a bracelet of jade on his wrist. Marinette told him once that jade was often worn to cleanse the aura or  _ karma  _ or something of that nature.  _ I wonder if he’s superstitious. _

Dr. Fu strangely hummed as he peered at the paper; seemingly unconscious of his movements closer to the flame. Nino was already to his feet when the map caught fire.

“Oh my goodness!” Dr. Fu yelped as the aged paper turned black in a matter of seconds. As it dropped on the stone floor, Chloe poured a cup of tea on it, dousing the flame—effectively ruining what did survive. Marinette knelt down, her eyes brimming with tears, the ash crumbled through her fingers. 

“I...my...I...,” she stammered, unable to form a complete sentence.

Nino crouched beside her and put a gentle hand on her back. He could only imagine what she would be feeling. Once, in a childish fit, Chris threw some of his music sheets into the bakery ovens—it was nothing short of devastating.

“The map...it’s ruined,” Mari choked, a sob caught in her throat.

Dr. Fu simply stood with his arms behind his back. “Mlle. Dupain-Cheng,” they peered up at him, his expression uncharacteristically cold. “It’s for the best I’m sure, many men have wasted their lives in the pursuit of  _ Kalsang _ . No one has ever found it and those foolish enough to seek it have never returned from the mountains.”

Mlle Bourgeoise silently gazed out the window. If Nino didn’t know any better, he might have mistaken her expression for sympathy.

Ignoring Nino’s hand, Marinette rose to her feet. Staring the shorter man dead in the eye, “I thank you for your time, but I will be returning to Paris as soon as possible. Please note that I will be contacting the Dean about this.” Yet everyone in the room knew nothing would come of it - a professor and the rich daughter of the mayor, they would be practically untouchable, no matter what Marinette reported. Without giving either of them a single glance, Marinette turned on her heel and left. Nino gave one last glance before following his sister out of the Temple.

Back out into the bustling streets, Marinette didn’t stop as she pushed through the market streets. “Marinette,” he called as she plowed through. A few meters ahead of him.

“Mari! Slow down!” he shouted, but all too quickly, Nino lost sight of her. While slightly worried, he already knew her destination. Nino shoved his hands into his pants pockets and slowed his strides. 

Tikki peered out his jacket pocket. “That was just awful.” 

Nino shrugged with his mouth, “It was indeed.”

The tiny goddess faced the direction his sister had disappeared. “Marinette must be incredibly upset. How should we comfort her?”

Nino shook his head grimly, “No. Give her some time to compose herself.”

Tikki’s large eyes grew sad, but she nodded and rehid in his pocket. For the remainder of the trek, he deliberately walked slower. 

It wasn’t the first time someone had ruined Mari’s work and he doubted it would be the last. Nino didn’t like to recall all the times that Marinette had suffered from discrimination. A half-Chinese female scholar was a tough thing to be in this day and age, but Nino was so proud of the decorum she possessed in those times. When they were young children, Nino’s parents would call Marinette, “ _Daesuqa_ ”. She was always fortunate, and she could accomplish whatever she set her mind to. Even when she would trip over her own feet to do it.

But this. ..

Nino knew about how long she had worked to earn the grant. All the stress and anxiety she endured, the sleepless nights. When she received that letter, he witnessed a priceless smile grace her face and she had never been happier.

It was horrible to see her thwarted like this.

Approaching the apartment, he could make out his sister’s figure as she aggressively paced in front of the windows. He could hear her hollowed footsteps from outside.  _ Glad, there isn’t anyone staying below us. _

Once inside, Tikki flew out. “Are you alright, Marinette?”

“No!” She exclaimed. “For the first time, I have found an  _ actual _ lead. Something that could be a turning point in my career-and-and  _ he burnt it _ !” Nino didn’t even bother to ask before uncorking a bottle of wine. He knew how this would all pan out.

Tikki continued to comfort Marinette, patting her paw against her cheek. “I’m sure it was an accident.”

Marinette shook her head, “No, it wasn’t. Dr. Fu is an assistant curator for the University. He would know better than anyone that you NEVER hold an artifact next to an open flame.”

Nino peered over his shoulder, “But why would he-?” 

She finished for him, “Do it on purpose?” Marinette continued to pace. “I don’t know. I was suspicious of Mlle. Bourgeois thwarting all of my efforts even before we arrived here. Remember how my one notebook ‘accidentally’ fell into a wash bucket? Or when half my books were never loaded onto the train?” Her pacing became more aggressive as her anger rose. “But I never believed Dr. Fu was capable of it until now.” 

Tikki grabbed a cookie from her tin, “Why wouldn’t they want you to look for the Temple? From what I remember, they used to welcome visitors. Is it not like that anymore?”

Marinette peered at the kwami, thoughtful. “I don’t know, Tikki. Maybe it’s still a running monastery that doesn’t want visitors. Maybe they want to find it themselves. Maybe they knew it wasn’t a myth and have already been looking for it.” Marinette plopped into the chair, her head in her hands. She unleashed a hard sob. “I’m such a fool!”

Nino knelt in front of her, prying her hands away, “Hey, you’re not a fool.” Her blue eyes were red-rimmed and exhausted. Nino hated when Mari was upset; she was such a vibrant person, to see her feel low was unbearable. 

He pressed his forehead to hers. “We still have the other map and Tikki to guide us. We’ll find the other miraculous and you can write the biggest, most obnoxious research report anyone has ever seen. As long as you don’t make me read it.” 

Marinette giggled a bit and closed her eyes, “Thanks, Nino. Don’t know what I would do without you.”

Relieved that she relaxed a little, Nino rose to his feet. Pouring them both a drink, he teased, “Well, you’d probably still been in the park fountain.”

She groaned, “Would you  _ please _ stop teasing me about that? We were eight, for goodness sake!”

Nino sipped his drink, the wine sweet, “Now, where’s the fun in that?”

Marinette swirled the burgundy liquid around, “That's your opinion.”

“And yet, mine’s the only one that matters.”

Taking a sip, Marinette's lips drew into a tight line. “Even so, we’re still back at the beginning.”

Tikki piped in, “Beginnings are a fresh start! I find that even though you didn’t move forward as planned, another path may open up to get you where you want to go. You just need to find the new starting point."

“That’s just it, Tikki. I’m not sure where that point might be—that map really was our best option.”

Nino pondered for a moment, “Not necessarily. Maybe… we could find that woman again...or the owner of those belongings she sold me. You still remember the man’s name?”

Marinette eyed him curiously before answering, “Agreste, wasn’t it?”

“That’s a French surname, right?” she nodded, and he smirked “I have an idea…”

* * *

Alya’s jaw cracked as another yawn broke free and she stretched her tired muscles. She had frantically searched for the man and woman from the Temple for the past few nights with no luck. Not a single lead to who they were or where they might have gone. Even with the boosted stamina from the Miraculous, she and Trixx were exhausted. Her kwami snoozed in her bag as entered her run-down office building. Usually, he preferred to cozy up in her coat pocket or chitter in her ear, but she didn't risk waking the little troublemaker from the constant movement of fabric.

Stepping into her cramped office space, Alya gently placed her belongings on one of the two old worn wooden desks. Unfortunately, the furthest away from the fire. Shivering a bit, she strolled over to the small wood stove and piled in pieces of chopped wood. Rose, a petite blonde, was in the storeroom humming as she sorted through the files. In her delicate pink outfit, her hair coiffed and trimmed to a stylish bob, Rose appeared picture-perfect. 

Alya couldn’t help her subtle envy as she plastered on a smile, “ _ Salut, Rose. Ça va?” _

Rose perked up even more, “I’m delightful. How are you feeling? Did you get over that flu you had?”

_ Oh right...that was my reason for running out of here last week.  _ “Much better, still a bit achy, but I’ll be fine.”  _ At least, that isn’t a lie. _

“Well, let me know if you need anything—some green tea with honey could help!”

“No, really, I’m alright. I appreciate it though.” Her co-worker gave her one more smile before continuing her task. Moving away from the wooden stove, Alya gently placed her bag on the floor before peeking inside. 

In one of Alya’s spare mittens, Trixx curled himself into a tiny ball of orange fur. His slow even breathing came out as a coo. Alya sighed.  _ Poor little guy, I should purchase him a treat or two after work.  _

Removing her coat and settling at her desk, Alya surveyed her piling paperwork with disdain. The title, ‘French-Nepalese Foreign Embassy’ was etched everywhere. The tiny windows provided little light, so Alya had to squint at the page and adjusted the glasses on the bridge of her nose. It was her sole job to track and maintain a status for all French nationals in the country. The office itself was unusually busy, maintaining an accurate log as the reports of French nationals leaving the country after the  _ Losar _ celebrations. 

Already waiting on her desk was a fresh stack of reports. On the top were the documents for a reasonably large travel group under the name of Damocles hastily departing for France. Out of the party, only one man didn't return from the mountain. However, nothing in the document to explain the man's disappearance. It wasn’t uncommon for people to go missing then reappear, so Alya figured she’d give the man a week or so to turn up before reporting him deceased. Alya sighed as she began to leaf through them, beginning to sort them alphabetically. Despite her best efforts to focus on anything else, Ayla felt guilt and anxiety gnawed at her insides. _What if we never find the two most potent Miraculouses?_ _What if-_

**Knock. Knock.**

Alya jumped at the sound as Rose practically skipped to open the door. Normally, Rose’s bubbly nature was welcomed, but today, Alya only felt annoyance towards the woman. She stood, brushing out her skirts, as Rose held the door for the couple, who were clearly lost. 

The handsome dark-skinned man spoke first, his French pronounced with a slight accent, “Hello, we’re looking for the French Embassy Office?” He removed his maroon cap to reveal stylish cropped dark hair. His golden-brown eyes were emphasized by thick black eyeglasses. 

Alya couldn’t help but gaze a little too long at his slender frame, her face flushed ever so slightly.

“Oh wonderful,  _ monsieur et madame _ .” Rose preened, “You’re in the right place, can we get you anything to drink? Water, milk, coffee, tea? We have a few refreshments.” 

As they entered, the pretty dark-haired woman tripped over the uneven flooring into the room. She would have toppled onto Rose’s desk if the man didn’t hoist her back to a standing position with a practiced motion. Flushed with embarrassment, the lady straightened herself as the man replied, “Yes, that’s very kind, I would like a glass of water. If you don’t mind.” 

Rose smiled, “Alright, just let me grab that for you. Mlle. Cesaire can help you until I get back.”

Alya gave an internal sigh of exasperation. All she wanted out of today was to complete some paperwork, bathe and then retire to her bed for the next 24 hours. Instead, she painted, what she hoped resembled a smile, on her face. “ _Bonjour,_ my name is Alya Cesaire.” 

“ _ Bonjour _ , I’m Nino Lahiffe,” he warmly smiled and gestured beside him. “This is my sister, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” Unexpected relief surged through her. Soon though Alya began to scrutinize the pair—her eyes focusing briefly on the simple earrings in Mlle. Dupain-Cheng’s ears.  _ Her name sounds familiar. It's odd, they look nothing alike. Maybe one of them is adopted? I wonder if I could ask...would they consider it rude? _

Shaking her head to disperse that train of thought, Alya asked, “How may I be of service M. La-?”

He interrupted with a smooth smile. “Please call me, Nino.”

Alya was taken back by his casual demeanor and etiquette. “Alright, Nino.” She decided she liked the simplistic sound of it and how fitting it was for him. “How may I be of service? Do you need new passports? Most people misplace theirs during the celebrations with so much happening at once. Nothing to be embarrassed about…”

Mlle. Dupain-Cheng had recovered from her less-than-graceful entrance as she seated herself, “We’re actually looking for a French gentleman. By the name of Agreste. I’m afraid we don’t know his first name.”

“Agreste, Agreste, now why does that name sound familiar?” Alya stood and fiddled with the dented file cabinet behind her—carefully dodging a stack of precarious files on the floor. Tutting, she maneuvered around her desk to the stacks next to the door. As Alya scooted past Nino’s tall frame, she couldn’t help having to brush against him as she passed. Their eyes met briefly before Alya freed herself from his honeyed gaze—a shiver running down her spine. 

Clearing her throat, Alya continued searching through the files. Rose arrived with a small plate of shortbread cookies and a glass of slightly cloudy water.

“It’s not much, but it should be enough.”

Mlle. Dupain-Cheng smiled politely, “Yes, thank you.” Rose gave them one last smile before heading back into the storage closet. Out of the corner of her eye, Alya noticed their guests placing the sweets into their pockets. The action was eerily familiar, most likely because Alya herself snuck was guilty of sneaking cookies to Trixx from time to time. Reluctantly, Alya drew her eyes back to the papers in her grasp. Scanning the document, she found the name. “Ah! M. Agreste arrived a few weeks ago.” 

Mlle. Dupain-Cheng shifted in her seat to face Alya, “Do you happen to know where he might be staying or if perhaps he’s left the country?” 

_ Agreste _ … “One moment, please.” She shifted through the stack on her desk, quickly looking over that report from earlier. “Unfortunately, I received a report this morning that M. Agreste didn’t return from the mountain.”

“That’s awful, “ Marinette said. 

“It is indeed.  _ Pauvre homme _ ,” Nino murmured and replaced his cap. “Well, I guess we’ll be on our way.”

Rose poked her head out of the storage, “Alya, did you say Agreste?”

“Yes?”

“Alya, I know you were ill, but the prison sent over word yesterday that they have an inmate by that name. Arrested earlier this week. Since he’s French, they asked us to have him deported.” Alya’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief.

Nino's brow furrowed and his eyes darkened. “Arrested? On what grounds?”

Rose picked up a small page from her desk and read. “Petty theft, it seems.” She then handed it over to Alya to examine.  _ Whose ever handwriting this is they must be completely blind!  _ “I don’t mean to pry, but what business did you say you had with M. Agreste?”  _ Are they criminals too? _

That question seemed to fluster Mlle. Dupain Cheng. “In-in a manner of speaking, I suppose. We recently acquired some of his belongings. A... _ merchant _ ...sold them to us and we’d realized that they’d been stolen. We’d like to see that he gets them back.” 

Alya’s brow furrowed ;  she could spot a lie from a mile away. Keeping her tone casual, she probed, “If I might ask, what brought you to Tibet?”  _ Might give me a clue as to why her name is familiar. Maybe they were in a crime report? _

She shared a glance with Nino before answering. “Academic pursuits.” 

“Is M. Agreste is also involved in these... academic pursuits?” Alya's investigative senses were tingling. She flipped his initial paperwork over, but it conveniently didn’t mention the reason for his visit.  _ Dammit, Rose! ...Would it be suspicious if I pulled their files too? I’m sure they’re over in the pile under the chair. _

Nino laughed awkwardly, “You could say that.”

_ “ _ Uh-huh. Anyway, feel free to ask Mlle. Lavillant for directions while I sort out these documents.”

The pair rose to their feet as Nino asked, “Mlle., could you direct us to the local prison?” 

Rose slightly taken aback by this request, although she quickly returned to her beaming self. “Of course, Monsieur. You and your wife can just follow Middle Main Canal to the  _ Zhapuji  _ District.”

“We’re siblings, not a couple,” Marinette stated matter of factly.  _ Clearly, she must correct people often.  _ Alya hid a giggle behind her hand at Rose’s confused expression. 

Nino laughed good-naturedly, “It’s a long story, one we don’t have time for, I’m afraid. We must be going.”

Rose flustered. “I apologize, that was rude of me to make assumptions!”

Nino smiled once more. “It’s alright. Don’t worry about it too much. You’re not the first and you definitely won’t be the last. Thank you for your time, Mlle. Lavillant...Alya.” She felt a shiver run down her spine as he verbally caressed the letters of her name. With one last lingering glance in Alya’s direction, Nino ushered his sister out the door, who continued fidgeting with her earring…

The earrings were nothing special - simply black and silver studs. Yet, they seem to call to her...similar to how the pendant hidden under her sweater did. Mlle. Dupain-Cheng’s fiddling reminded her of how she used to fidget with her miraculous when she first received it, unused to its weight. A question burned on her lips, but then the siblings had left the office, the door closing with a resounding click. In her mind’s eye, she saw Marinette’s earrings. 

_ I wonder…? _

While they could be the man and woman from the Temple, it would do no good for Alya to outright ask them.  _ No, it’s too dangerous to reveal anything about the Miraculouses or Kalsang. I don’t know how Agreste fits into the equation, maybe he was searching for the Temple out for them? Are they working together?  _

As Alya was lost in thought, weighing her options, her kwami floated himself on her shoulder. “That was weird.” Alya silently nodded. “I could have sworn I felt Tikki’s presence, but I’m probably wrong. Anyway, have you seen any mice yet? That nap sure was refreshing!! Ooooh! Cookies!” The tiny kwami swooped down and gobbled up the leftover cookies before Alya even processed his words. 

“Wait, Trixx. Go back a little, who is Tikki?”

“Tikki is one of my oldest friends. She’s the kwami for the Miraculous of Creation and  _ let me tell you  _ about all the mischief Plagg, Tikki, and I have gotten into - although she’d never admitted it. Always the goody-two-shoes. Oh oh, there was this one time we made a whole island and then made it  **disappear** ! The Greeks just about lost their minds—” 

“Stop for a moment—did you say Miraculous of Creation? Are you  _ sure _ ?”

“Maybe. Kinda. Possibly. Probably.” 

Alya just stared at the bit of orange fur as he flitted around telling multiple stories in his usual sporadic fashion. Her mind ceased to function as she processed one single fact—the Miraculous of Creation had been right. In. Front. Of. Them! Could she be that lucky for it to just waltz right into her office?  _ There’s only one way to find out. _ “Trixx! We have to follow them, we have to—”

Rose piped from the closet, “Is everything okay, Alya?”

Startled, Alya fell off her chair—her expression still dazed. Her co-worker rushed over and eased her back up into her seat. “Alya, I know you said that you’re fine, but you shouldn’t overexert yourself. Please, allow me to prepare some tea for you and you can rest.”

“Sure, Rose. That would be very nice.” As Rose left the room again, Alya said to Trixx, “I need you to follow them.”

“Alya,” Rose called, “Did you say something?”

“No, nothing!”

“Alright.” Rose went back to humming as she rattled around the other room.

Lowering her voice to a whisper, Alya repeated “Trixx, I need you to follow them. We need to know if they have the Miraculous or not. What about this Plagg, is he a kwami too? Did you sense him too?” 

“Nope, no Plagg. He’s not very subtle, cats can be obnoxious like that. There was this other time when-”

Alya interrupted. “No time, Trixx. Follow those two for me and I’ll buy you a bag of treats when we go home!”

The kwami preened with excitement, “Yippee! You should come with me - it’ll be fun!”

“I can’t. It’ll be suspicious if I bolt out of here again and we’re still too worn out to cast a Mirage for that long. You follow them and report to me what you find.”

“ _ Oui, oui, Ma Capitaine _ .” He saluted before zipping out the door.

Rose reentered with a piping hot teacup, the scent of jasmine tea wafted through the air. “There you go. Let me know if it needs any more honey or if it’s too hot.” 

“Thank you so much, Rose.” Alya blew on the fragrant tea before sipping it, all the while contemplating how she was going to tell Chloe and Dr. Fu what she discovered. She grimaced at the thought of relay any of this to Chloe. 

“ _ Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous! You let one of the most powerful Miraculous slip out from right under you! I swear a plant would be more observant.” _

_...There’s no way I’m telling to her. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daesuqa - Ladybug
> 
> How many references did you notice?


End file.
